


Fool to Pay this Price

by imperfectkreis, sova



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Anal Sex, Child Death, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Time Travel, pre-death of the Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sova/pseuds/sova
Summary: (pre-DotO/no DotO spoilers)The Outsider has a gift, and a request. Corvo is allowed to refuse them both. But he doesn't.Neither can be certain of the outcome, but they have to try.(written by imperfectkreis/illustrated by sova)





	Fool to Pay this Price

They send a woman first, dressed in white. Her hood is up, shielding her face from curious eyes. There are whispers along the docks as she walks, her lily train gathering dirt and grime from the wet boards beneath her feet with each step. By the time she reaches the end of the pier, she’s soaked in salt, her robes turned dove-grey around the hem.

“You can speak to them?” she asks, her voice like ice. Clear and smooth and hard.

The boy doesn't look away from the sea. He does not know why she has come. The locals only gawk at him. They would send the boy away, but it is a bad omen to shun beggars who can speak into the water and receive gifts from the Leviathans in return. He has not been the only pauper with such a talent. Just the most recent.

“They talk too fast,” the boy responds, “I can't keep up.” His bare feet dangle off the edge of the pier. He wishes the woman had brought him food, and not questions. It has been two days since he has eaten. But her hands are empty.

\--

They send the men next, dressed in black. When the salt dries on their robes, it looks like ash. No one dares to stop them, as their heavy boots shake against the planks.

The boy didn't think they'd be back so soon. He should have lied to the woman. Should have told them it's silly, that whales should speak? Impossible.

He tries to run, jumping into the water. The shock of cold makes him tense, his nerves freezing up. He barely knows how to swim, despite living all these years along the coast. Desperately, he searches for the surface of the water, pulling himself up to suck down air into his burning lungs.

But his show of frustrated defiance is for naught. One of the men bundles up his shaking body, holding him close against his chest as he swims to shore.

The boy can hear the Leviathans crying. Oh, but what they say doesn't make sense at all.

\--

He doesn't struggle after that. Not when they lay him on the table, his body washed and dressed in white, fingers adorned with rings. Not when they bind his hands and feet to the slab. Only when the sharpened metal blades touche his throat, does he think to scream. It's not a word. At least, not one he can currently comprehend. 

And the boy becomes a god.

\--

Corvo smokes to fill time. To remember a time that is long past. He and Jessame would occupy the Tower balcony adjacent to her rooms, drinking strong whisky and smoking fine cigars to relish in the final glimmering moments of the night. Her cheeks pinked with liquor, she climbed into his lap, spreading her thighs over his hips, tangling her long, slender fingers through his hair. 

In a tale of a different sort, Corvo might have said that when they were alone, they were just two people: Corvo, Jessamine. But the truth was, she was always, unrelentingly, the Empress of the Isles, even in her private chambers. She didn’t need to lower herself to love him. 

Now Corvo smokes alone, leaning out the window of his study. And his lover is of a different sort. Yet no less impossible.

Emily sleeps in the rooms above, the ones her mother once occupied. Her Consort at her side, guards at her door, her father stalking the floor below. 

Corvo will see to it that Emily’s reign is long. Delilah and her pretensions to godhood couldn’t stop them. Yet, Corvo still feels danger lurking, hidden in long shadows not yet cast.

It’s only a matter of time.

He puts out his cigar against the exterior wall of the Tower. His vision blurs, the Mark burning through the confines of the cloth he uses to bind it. A devil’s bargain, taking back his Mark in exchange for Emily losing hers. But there was no other option. The Abbey can say what they wish about Corvo Attano. But the Empress’ hands must be bare and clean.

“Ennui suits you,” a voice echos from inside Corvo’s study.

Turning, he finds the Outsider perched upon his desk, legs crossed delicately at the shin. Hands folded in his lap. 

The room itself has shifted, changed. The warmth of the gas lamps stolen, reduced to watery blue hues. Everything else is cloaked in gray, fog swirling around his heels. The Outsider brings the Void with him, wherever he goes. Like a mantle he can’t shuck. Corvo hopes it keeps the Outsider warm, when he swims with the true terrors of the deep.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Corvo jokes, stepping across the room to take his whiskey glass from where it sits, next to the Outsider’s hip. He deliberately lets his forearm brush against the outside of the god’s thigh, though the contact burns cold.

His meetings with the Outsider have grown frequent. Too frequent for Corvo’s liking. After fifteen years of disinterest, Corvo finds the Outsider’s keen attentions now unnerving. The Outsider snared Corvo months ago, stringing together beautiful, lucid dreams for the two of them to share. And Corvo walked into the trap with his eyes open, wanting so acutely to touch and taste. How could he say no? But now, he worries that the Outsider will grow bored of him. An amusing trifle for a few lonely evenings, stamped against the wall of the Outsider’s eternal life. Nothing more.

“I brought you a gift,” the Outsider hops up off the desk, but his feet do not touch the floor. Instead, he floats just above, the fog denser than his mass. Even flat-footed, he would be taller than Corvo, though not by as much as his levitation allows. 

Taking a sip from his glass, Corvo waits to see what this gift consists of. He is in no position to refuse. The Outsider’s intervention in his life may be frightening, but for Corvo to have such power at his disposal is nonetheless a boon. 

The Outsider raises his hands to the center of his chest, pale skin set against the dark expanse of his high-necked coat. Between his palms, a sliver and glass contraption falls into place, materializing out of the air, a mess of wire, metal, and clock faces, tangled into a thick lattice. The mirrored glass fans out like feathers, catching the light as the narrow plates click into place.

“Perhaps Emily told you of this?”

The Timepiece is unmistakable from Emily’s description. The device allowed her to merge through time, back to the night Delilah was resurrected at Stilton Manor. She could phase from past to present, but never travel in between. The disruption in the Void fixed a particular moment in time. Made the barrier between the Void and their present reality thin enough that she could cross the gap.

“She did,” Corvo responds, putting down his glass on the desk. He reaches out to the Timepiece, expecting to take it from the Outsider’s hands. If the Timepiece’s powers are so precise as to only return to a particular moment, what use might Corvo have for it?

The Outsider does not let go, instead pulling back his gift, cradling it close to his chest. “Not yet,” he soothes, “First you must agree.”

“Agree to what?” Corvo realizes he has been given so precious few choices in his life. Opportunities to make his own decisions. Yes, as Royal Protector, he decides who lives, who dies by his hand, but for the glory of the Empress. And years ago, the Outsider did not set him upon a particular course when Emily was stolen from him. But that does not mean Corvo’s hands were any less bound by fate and circumstances. 

Even his title, one he wears like armor, was something he could not deny. The Duke made Corvo into a gift, to be given like a trinket to a distant Emperor. And, while Corvo cannot say he regrets the path he’s walked, he acknowledges that his current station has very little to do with his own desires.

Who could he have been, had he not been shipped to Dunwall?

The Outsider gives him a choice now, whether to take the Timepiece, or not. 

“I may call it a gift, but it serves a particular purpose.” The light from the Timepiece is brilliant, bathing the Outsider’s hands in silver and shadow. “And you must return it, when your work is through.”

“So you need a mercenary,” Corvo says, “it is not a gift at all.”

“Perhaps,” the Outsider concedes, “but I would trust no other but you.”

Corvo snickers, “You trust me?” His hands feel dull, unoccupied. Nervous bile rises in his throat. Though the Outsider still lingers by his desk, Corvo returns to his decanter, pouring another finger into the empty glass. At least if he is holding something, he will not shake. 

The Outsider tilts his head, his hair sticking to his high collar. A flaw in his appearance. Corvo has seen so few over the years of their acquaintance. The majority of them in the last three months of their intimacy. The Outsider is a beauty for an age, that is certain. This age, the next, many generations past, those yet to come. Corvo thinks that the Outsider’s perfect features must be a deliberate disguise. He has wondered if the god has many faces, donning the one most attractive to his prey. Though all the portraits and depictions and descriptions look and sound the same. Maybe that is a trick as well, letting Corvo see only what he wishes. What he wants, desires.

“The Timepiece can only work where the membrane of the Void is damaged, thin, leaking. And it can only revert to the moments in and around the creation of that rupture. Otherwise, time remains immune to my direct control,” the Outsider does not answer Corvo’s question. 

“So you need me to go back to a particular event?” Corvo asks.

The Outsider nods, “the largest hole ever carved into the Void,” his smile is soft, distant. “You need to visit the place and time of my ascension to godhood.” The Outsider sinks a few inches, his feet coming to rest on the floor. The fog around them clears, dissipating into the gaps beneath the floorboards.

“Why?” Corvo shakes his head, “Do you want me to stop it? Do you want me to kill those who made you into a god? Or merely to watch?” 

Emily couldn’t prevent Delilah from coming back, though she was able to learn what happened that night. See the sway that Delilah held over her faithful. Able to observe the wicked ritual she concocted.

“Nothing so dramatic, dear Corvo. You need to take the knife they used to slit my throat. Nothing more.”

“The twin-blade?” Corvo has held it before, however briefly, before the knife disappeared again, running through his fingers.

The Outsider continues, undeterred, “now you must understand, why I trust none but you to hold it.”

Corvo measures his response, “What are the consequences, if I do not do this for you?”

“I do not know for certain,” the Outsider admits.

“And if I do complete my task?”

“I do not know for certain.”

Frustration rakes over Corvo’s nerves. The Outsider is capable of being direct. Corvo knows as much. When they lay together and the Outsider pants, “More, yes, just there,” his clammy skin slick with Corvo’s sweat and his pale neck bared, his long scar set against his skin like a silver cord. He is perfectly capable of telling Corvo exactly what he needs.

“Then why bother?’ Corvo asks, trying to find some tangible reason to accept the Outsider’s offer. Perhaps his hesitation means he has already relented. 

“One of the possibilities of failure is that I die,” the Outsider says with resignation. “It is one of the tools that can bring about my end.”

“One?”

“One.”

Corvo scoffs, “So even if I succeed, you may die?”

“We all die, Corvo,” the Outsider corrects. “We only get the luxury of attempting to dictate the terms of our demise.” A smile crosses his lips, “So you admit, you approve of my tenure as warden of the Void?”

Corvo rolls his eyes, rolls his glass between his palms. The cut of the tumbler digs into his skin. “Better the god you know.”

“The god you bed, as well.” The Outsider continues before Corvo can sneak in another retort, “so, do you agree?”

Downing the last of the whiskey, Corvo assents, “Show me how it works.”

The Outsider moves his hands away from his chest, letting the Timepiece glide towards Corvo’s outstretched hands. Cupping his palms, Corvo cradles the device as the levitation dissipates and it sinks into his grasp.

Stepping behind Corvo, the Outsider puts his chest to Corvo’s back. He may be lithe and narrow, but his arms are long enough to reach around, curling his softer, longer fingers over Corvo’s shorter ones.

The Outsider is cold. He's always cold. There is saltwater in his veins and fog in his lungs. Try as he might, Corvo has never managed to warm the branches of his bones.

And yet there is a comfort in their closeness, even if their intimacy comes in fits and starts. Corvo knows the pattern of the Outsider’s attention well enough.

Lacing their fingers together, the Outsider works the device, showing, rather than telling, Corvo how to deploy the mirrors, so that he might see into the ruptured past. For now, Corvo can only see the reflection of his own study, bathed in the cool light the Outsider prefers.

“And you squeeze,” the Outsider explains, “and you shift.” His hand tightens. The Timepiece doesn't yield. The gears aren't even spinning. There is no disturbance to power the device. 

The Outsider rocks his hips, the half-soft jut of his cock pressing against Corvo’s ass. Subtle, but unmistakable.

Corvo laughs, leaning his head back against the Outsider’s shoulder. “Did you really come here about a blade? Or was that merely an excuse?”

The Outsider’s smile against the back of Corvo’s neck gives much away. “Do I need an excuse? I am sincere regarding the blade.” His hands fall from around Corvo’s, coming instead to rest on either side of Corvo’s thick waist. “Your journey will be long,” pressing a kiss to the back of Corvo’s neck, the Outsider couldn’t be clearer in his desires, “and lonely.”

Corvo huffs, turning in the circle of the Outsider’s arms. He has to set the Timepiece aside, bending to settle it on the long sofa facing his desk. In his hands, the Outsider’s face is cold, his dark eyes bright in the darkness of the Void-contaminated room. 

“You’re the one who’s always aching for company,” Corvo points out.

The Outsider hums, but doesn’t deny the accusation. 

Shoving at the Outsider’s chest, Corvo directs him towards his desk. He dips down, wrapping his arms around the backs of the Outsider’s thighs to hoist him up and deposit him on the table. Corvo leans into the Outsider, working open the front of his slacks with one hand. The Outsider holds Corvo’s neck while Corvo ravishes his mouth, keeping it wet and open and panting for more. The Outsider’s cock springs out, wrapped tightly in Corvo’s hand as he starts to pump.

Corvo kisses at the Outsider’s neck one last time before dropping to his knees. Though the Outsider’s cock is as hard and heavy as any human’s, the lack of warmth was disconcerting at first. Corvo has since grown used to the sensation. Still, some illogical part of him wishes he could make the Outsider warm under his skin. Corvo, slides his hand to the hilt of the Outsider’s cock, wrapping his lips around the head and descending to lick along the underside. The Outsider hisses, his fingers coming to tangle in Corvo’s graying hair.

Rolling his hips, the Outsider thrusts shallowly into Corvo’s mouth. Corvo pulls his hands away, resting one on the top of the Outsider’s thigh and wrapping the other one around his back, pulling the Outsider closer to the edge of the desk. As he sinks deeper onto the Outsider’s cock, his lover’s breaths come in hurried gasps, his control already waning. Intoxicating, to have a god so pliant under his hands and mouth. 

The Outsider claws at Corvo’s shoulders, sinking his nails as deep as they will go. He bucks and whines Corvo’s name, shuddering and coming dry. The reverberations course through the Outsider’s body, shockwaves of tension releasing through his relaxing posture is the only signal Corvo recieves of his release. 

Pulling off, Corvo rests his head against the inside of the Outsider’s thigh, breathing deeply before scraping his beard against tender flesh. The Outsider bats at him, saying that it scratches. Smiling, Corvo kisses over where the skin has reddened from his attention. 

Corvo stands, puts his lips back against the Outsider’s, and waits for his lover to make the next move. It’s slower, gentler, as the Outsider works open the buckle at Corvo’s waist. Though he has been hard since he started sucking on the Outsider’s cock, the need was less acute. Now, with those fingers wrapped around his shaft, Corvo can focus on little other than his own pleasure. 

The Outsider wraps his free arm around Corvo’s shoulders, keeping their bodies flush together. Seated on Corvo’s desk, the Outsider’s head is lower than Corvo’s, letting him dip down to kiss across his chest. They haven’t bothered to properly undress, so the Outsider ends up with a mouthful of fabric. But he doesn’t seem to mind, and warmth blooms across Corvo’s ribs all the same.

Corvo comes in messy spurts across the Outsider’s chest, cum staining the black fabric of his jacket. In a gesture that is unmistakably lewd, the Outsider sticks his fingers in his own mouth, tongue darting against the digits, licking away Corvo’s seed. 

“I hope that you succeed,” the Outsider murmurs. Corvo can already feel the warmth returning to the room as the Outsider pulls the Void away. 

\--

Finding passage to Pandyssia proves to be Corvo’s first stumbling block. 

The Imperial Navy is technically at his disposal. He could simply commandeer a ship and crew. But using the Empire’s assets would leave a paper trail, require signatures, too many eyes and ears. Corvo wishes to be discrete in this matter. 

So he asks one of his informants at the docks, if there are any captains foolish enough to have already planned a journey to the distant shore. One of his regulars, a plain woman with ruddy skin and amber eyes, gives a name. Galeson. He’s not planning a voyage at the moment. But he’s been asking around regarding the now-infamous passage Sokolov traversed decades prior.

Corvo thanks her for the information with coin and a decant of liquor from his own reserves, before setting out to speak to Galeson. The captain turns out to be little more than a boy, perhaps twenty-three at most, and in possession of a ship inherited from his father. Corvo doubts it is large enough to weather the weeks it will take to cross the sea. 

But currency is easier to obfuscate than a vessel, so Corvo buys the boy what he thinks he needs to make the voyage. Including a crew that is agreeable to their destination. Galeson’s eyes are full of stars as they prepare for departure. 

Emily still thinks that hiring a ship is a terrible idea. If Corvo wishes, she shall give him a fleet.

“You and I both know that is impossible,” Corvo explains, “we cannot let this touch you.”

Emily scrunches up her face. When Corvo bartered for the removal of her Mark, he used similar reasoning to convince her to relent. Sometimes, he regrets the exchange, if only because Emily found her arcane powers amusing and exciting. But it is better this way. Her bare hand removed all lingering suspicions following Delilah’s usurpation and Emily’s return to the throne.

“And if you drown, where will I be left?”

Corvo sighs. She will be left with an Empire and a Consort, both who adore her. She will hire someone competent to fill his role at court. She will live beautifully and to the best of her abilities. Of that, Corvo has no doubts. There will be those who threaten her, of course, but she is capable and clever.

“He won't let me drown,” Corvo says. Though he's not certain himself.

Emily scoffs, “Yet he cannot just deposit you on the Continent,” she rolls her eyes. “If only those who worshiped our friend with blind adoration knew how limited his powers really are.”

Shaking his head, Corvo pleads, “don't call him a friend.”

“I know, I know,” she waves off his concern. “My image is at stake.” Emily has little choice other than to resign herself to her father’s whims.

\--

They do not drown, though the trip across the sea is no more or less treacherous than Corvo expects. More than anything else, the journey is dull. Corvo is not accustomed to spending so much time on the water. Neither is the crew. Luckily, they fall ill in shifts. Fatigue and vomiting and homesickness. 

When the worst of the weather hits, most of them are well enough to fight the storm. They survive with minimal damage to the hull and masts, all of it easily repaired. Some think it a bad omen, that there are worse things yet to come. Another sailor jokes that, given their destination, they’d be lucky to die at sea.

Galeson sunburns early in the trip, when the sun shows its face. He turns bright red and peels over the bridge of his nose, the tops of his cheeks. 

Corvo jokes about it good naturedly, trying to keep on friendly terms with the captain and the crew. By the second week, he has burned as well. 

“Serkonians,” Galeson quips, “they say they never burn. But turns out, that's hubris.”

Corvo bristles, but where his skin wrinkles with his expression, it hurts. Damn it all.

\--

Galeson has made arrangements for his own scouting expedition, separate from Corvo’s mission here on the Continent. 

Corvo bids the captain and his adventurers farewell, peeling off from the group as soon as possible. Another contingent will stay with the boat, ensuring that it is seaworthy for the return voyage, and see to what provisions they can gather from the coastline.

Corvo doesn't truly register where he is, until he is alone. Far enough from the ship that it’s little more than a speck in the distance, the sailors’ voices gone.

The sand under his boots is so stark-white and dense, it almost feels like concrete as he walks along the shore. Where the beach ends and the forest begins, towers an unyielding wall of green, the thick-trunked trees stretching to the sky. 

The Isles have nearly been deforested, after centuries of logging. Most of the remaining vegetation is short, quick growing, and without color. But the trees here? They practically sing with life. After all, the jungle swallowed up the grandest civilization to ever exist, if the stories are to be believed.

He's read Vera Moray’s journals. Sokolov’s too. Devoured them over the course of the journey here. So Corvo knows to expect great beasts, gnashing teeth that can slice through his bones like a knife through a pear. Flying serpents, land whales, all manner of insects and birds and lizards. Most of it sounds like fantasy. Everything larger than life and primed to kill mortal men. 

He knows that what Moray saw here would eventually drive her mad. Sokolov was perhaps unhinged from the start. Or maybe the Outsider personally cursed them both. Though, the god always speaks of Moray with a lovely lilt. He was fond of her. 

There are few the Outsider despises more than Sokolov. Though Corvo has never worked out what the inventor did precisely to become the focus of the Outsider’s quiet wrath.

Galeson and his party are almost certain to perish here. But Corvo trusts he will walk away unharmed. The Outsider would not send him otherwise.

Right?

There is no choice now but to move forward.

Corvo walks down the length of the untouched beach, sand sticking to his trousers. He pulls the Timepiece from his satchel, the device blooming in his hands. The mirrored wings spread, almost fluttering, though they are hard planes of glass. He tries to look through to the other side of time, but only sees his reflection looking back at him. Damn, he looks old.

The Timepiece will only work where the rupture occurred. But there is a whole continent before him, and the Outsider is a brutal guide, leaving Corvo with few clues.

Sure that he will not be seen, Corvo Blinks ahead to cover more ground than he would on foot. Stopping at regular intervals, he tries the Timepiece, hoping to discern a clue to his location, or in what direction he should travel. The Outsider only provided that he was taken from the shore, and killed in the interior. He thinks two or three days elapsed between his kidnapping and when they reached their destination at the shrine. At the time, he was only a boy, saturated with fear.

Corvo finds it very hard to picture what terror looks like on the Outsider’s smooth, impassive features. Smiling to himself, Corvo thinks of the times he's broken that facade, made the Outsider so delirious with want that his pretty face twists in pleasure. But now is not the time.

Very soon it occurs to Corvo that, while millennia have passed, stone and roads and built up structures do not wear down so easily. The wooden dock where the Outsider watched whales break the surface of the sea may be long gone, but some relic of the long-dead civilization must remain. I could not have simply vanished.

He rushes across the shoreline until his mana runs dry. While he's brought a stash of solution to replenish his powers, he saves the bottles, should be attacked by the local wildlife, or the humans said to remain within the forest. No doubt, even if the settlements here have regressed to primitive means, they will have weapons, and teeth.

Once he feels his powers return, he Blinks again, covering the kilometers quickly, no longer stopping to check the Timepiece. Day turns to night, then day again, and when he finally comes to a halt, an ancient world opens up to him.

Set back from the coast, he can see vines, thick as his forearm, twisting around a shell of stone, rising almost three stories high before disappearing in the foliage. The building is a hollow, empty thing, with shorter ruined buildings sprawled on either side, stretching back into the forest’s depths. 

There was a city here.

Corvo takes the Timepiece from his coat, trying it again. This time, the device springs to life, and when he tilts it just so, he sees more than just the reconstructed buildings that came up almost to the tide. He sees the inhabitants of Pandyssia, walking, talking, laughing. Going about their daily lives. He sees an empire long gone.

And the sight leaves him breathless.

The people are diverse, brightly dressed, with beads and ribbons woven through their hair. Their clothes are looser fitting than the style in Dunwall, and made of lighter colored fabrics. Corvo turns the Timepiece, peering into another angle. Peddlers line the wooden platform that stretches out over the sand. Blankets and small, mobile stalls where they sell their wares packed tight together. Patrons haggle with exaggerated hand motions, gesturing away from their bodies instead of keeping their hands tight to their chests.

Children run along the passageways, darting in between adults in flared skirts. Corvo cannot hear them through the glass, but he can see that their mouths are open. The whole scene looks raucous and noisy. 

At the tree line, the multi-story ruin now appears intact. The the gaping holes in the side were once filled with glass panes. Corvo is too far away to see inside, but he's sure the structure is as densely occupied as the streets.

Corvo shakes his head, lowering the Timepiece. He can't shift here. His dark, tightly fitted clothing would look preposterous in this setting. Besides, an entire city stretches back into what is now overgrown jungle. Before he proceeds, he needs a lead on the Cultists.

He uses the mirrors to work out the location of the docks, only to realize that the entire coastline is packed with ships at harbor, like sardines in a can. Finding a single boy in the chaos will take time. 

But the Outsider’s device is more precise than Corvo first assumed. Because the images, while vivid and bright, are slightly fuzzy at the edges. Yet, among the crowd of ships, there is a distinct hole of sharpened clarity in the distance. Shining like a beacon in the fog.

A hole in the Void, where time has been disrupted. The Timepiece only works because the Void leaks, rendering a bend in time, forcing events to loop back onto themselves.

The boy the Outsider once was...he must be that disturbance.

Corvo rushes across empty, barren sand, using the mirror to guide him through what was once the pier. He steps out into the water, high enough to come almost to his hip. When he arrives at the location so clearly rendered in the glass, he tilts the device until the boy comes into view, standing on a dock that no longer exists.

He is small. Smaller than he should be at fifteen. Malnutrition. A lifetime of it making his bones brittle and his skin sallow. There are burns across his face where the sun has touched him, black hair falling onto his forehead.

Corvo finds it very hard to reconcile this sad little figure with the god he knows.

The boy picks through a bucket of cast off fish bones, trying to tear away bits of flesh with his dirty fingers. Each of his knuckles is distinct, with nothing more than skin to cushion them.

Corvo sees children in such conditions in Dunwall. And in that way, the scene is not strange. But he finds it difficult to make the boy’s features match up with the Outsider’s adult appearance. Maybe that isn't strange either.

Still separated by the barrier of time, the boy is oblivious to Corvo’s presence. He goes about his grim task with determination, eyes with stark whites narrowed. Corvo moves the Timepiece from side to side, trying to determine if he’ll be seen by anyone other than the boy. Then he realizes, he’s standing in the sea. The water may have been deeper then? When he moves through time, will he be on the dock or in the water? Will his clothes still be soaked? Will he suddenly be dry? What if the boy screams?

Corvo is going to have to take the risk. He walks back to the shore, looking for a point where the current-beach connects with the past-docks. Once he’s in position, he takes another look around. Though the docks are bustling with activity, each person appears absorbed in their own work. As long as they do not see the moment he materializes, Corvo should be in the clear.

Taking a deep breath, Corvo activates the Timepiece. Moving from his present into the Outsider’s past.

The air is warmer than before, and it smells like a mixture of flowers and fish. The clean salt of the ocean nearly imperceptible. 

No one has called for an alarm yet, so hopefully Corvo’s arcane trick has gone unnoticed. His pant legs are still soaked. Unfortunate. 

He does not bother sneaking between the crates, instead walking the docks as if he belongs to the scene. His clothing is odd, very odd indeed. But it is better to be mistaken for an eccentric than a criminal.

The boy is not far away, his hands still buried in the bucket. When he finds a morsel to eat, his hand darts up, shoving into his mouth.

In Dunwall, Corvo gives the urchins coin. Though he has the gold to spare, he is uncertain if it will be of any use here.

Oh.

What does it matter?

The boy dies and becomes a god. 

Corvo leaves the coin in his pocket.

“Hello?” Corvo asks, his voice even and gentle. He tries to remember that the boy is fifteen, not younger. No doubt, he will respond poorly to being treated like a ‘child.’ Children at that age frequently think that they are grown.

The boy turns sharply, his hands crossed over his chest in a defensive posture. As if he expects to be struck. But his face is twisted in defiance. He wishes he could strike back.

“What do you want?” the child looks him up and down, perhaps assessing his strange attire. “I don’t go with people.”

Corvo shakes his head. What does he expect to learn here? He only needed to wait for the Cultists to arrive, then follow them to where the sacrifice took place. The Outsider was clear in his instructions. He wishes for Corvo to take the knife. Not to prevent the ritual.

But seeing the boy in such conditions, curiosity overwhelmed him. The need to intervene overwhelming logic. Corvo feels very acutely that it is important he show his face. Share a word. Perhaps he is wrong. 

“I’m Corvo,” he realizes his accent must be foreign, but strangers come from many places. “What is your name?” 

Corvo realizes, only after he has asked, that the question was unintended. There is no deep meaning, trying to pry free the human name that the Outsider has never offered willingly. Only, Corvo is following his familiar script, repeating the conversation he often has with orphans-turned-informants. He asks the child’s name because it is polite.

But the boy stares at him, his arms dropping from around his chest, his eyes are wide and open. He knows something about Corvo is strange.

“I don’t have a name,” the boy says, as if the answer should be obvious. “Why would I?”

In Dunwall, even orphaned babes have names. To leave a child with nothing is unthinkable. Someone, somewhere, cares enough about their existence to give them a name. And this child has none.

Out of flustered embarrassment, Corvo reaches into his coat pocket, finds the coin he knows is there. He shoves the coin into the child’s hand. Even if it is worthless. Let him have it.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” Corvo turns to leave, “you are not who I was looking for.” He intends to head back down the dock, hoping that the nameless boy won’t follow him. He will find a moment to slip away. But before he can take a second step, the air turns cold.

“I remember you,” the Outsider admits. “And now I feel as if I’ve always remembered you.”

Corvo turns around. The Outsider stands just behind the boy, frozen now in space and time. His taller figure frames the younger iteration of himself.

The immobile boy looks curiously in Corvo’s direction, the coin tucked firmly in his hand. The Outsider steps around the scene, crouching slightly to look into the boy’s static, glassy eyes. 

“I thought I had forgotten my name,” he drags his fingers over the boy’s hollow cheek. “I thought they stole it from me, somehow.” He pushes back his dark hair, appraising the weak, broken body that was once his. “But I remember you, Corvo.”

“I didn’t mean to ask his name,” Corvo apologizes, “habit.”

“I do not mind, Corvo,” he remains in front of the child, transfixed by his own appearance. “Only….” sadness coats his syllables, “there was no one to name me.” He shakes his head, “silly, to worry about such things now.”

The Outsider stands, folding his arms across his chest. Though Corvo can no longer see his face, the slight slump of his lover’s shoulders gives away the hollow anguish that still surrounds him like a fog. Corvo takes the risk, stepping closer, to wrap his arms around the Outsider’s waist, pressing his chest to the long line of his back. The Outsider slumps into his steady weight, his shoulders softening. 

“So, you always knew we would meet?” Corvo asks, pressing his lips to the Outsider’s neck. He still finds it unnerving that there is no pulse there.

“Hmm,” the Outsider hums, “time is not as linear as you think. But I knew a man named Corvo gave me a strange coin. And I knew he was from another world.”

Another time...but Corvo does not correct him, instead spreading his fingers wide across the flat of the Outsider’s stomach. The heavy felt of his jacket warms with Corvo’s body heat. He waits, letting the Outsider decide when to pull away. 

“Do you see me again?” Corvo asks, as the Outsider turns in the circle of his arms, readying to break the spell holding the tableau in place.

A smile is the only response Corvo receives. 

Corvo returns seamlessly to the present, the Timepiece still tucked into his coat. His curiosity settled, he must now wait for the boy to be taken. 

\--

Sitting on the beach, Corvo only moves when the tide draws too close to his feet. He looks through the mirrors, watching as the boy finishes with the bucket, and sits down at the edge of the pier, his feet hanging towards the water. 

The boy turns Corvo’s coin over in his hand, appraising it from all angles. With no pockets, he has nowhere to store the bauble, so he worries over it with his thumb and forefinger, unceasingly.

They come for him as the sun begins to set. Men in hooded robes, their faces obscured by shadows. The black cloud of their presence darkens the docks, sailors and laborers rushing out of their way. 

When the boy sees them, his face fills with sudden panic. Jumping to his feet, he finds nowhere to run. Instead, he throws himself into the water, shivering violently as if it is ice. But the air was so warm?

His mouth is open. Screaming? The Timepiece doesn't replicate sound. Only the horrific image of the boy struggling, as one of the Cultists tries to pull him from the water.

Corvo wants, desperately, to help him. To smash through the barrier of time and rip the boy from the Cultists’ clutches. But he can only watch. This is what the Outsider wishes.

The Cultist carries the orphan onto the beach bridal style, his limbs now too weak with exertion to fight back. They are both soaking wet and, if Corvo didn't know otherwise, he would think the boy already dead.

The remaining Cultists bundle him up in rolls of dark fabric, hiding the pale child from peering eyes of passers-by. Not a single soul reaches out to help the orphan, though few appear comfortable with the violence of the scene before them. Faces in the crowd frown, clutching one another as the Cultists carry off their prize. 

Corvo follows along the empty beach, keeping the Timepiece focused on the god-to-be.

There is still a long journey ahead of them.

\--

Corvo keeps up with the carriage by Blinking through the dense forest. The ground is so thickly corded with roots, vines, and debris, that he stays to the lower rungs of branches. He moves ahead, checking the trajectory of the carriage, before lowering the Timepiece again and carrying on.

Night turns back into day. Then the sun begins to set again. Corvo’s bones are tired, but he doesn’t wish to think on what will happen if he loses the trail now. History should repeat itself, that is the entire premise of the tear in the Void that makes the Timepiece work. But there is a tight, winding desperation inside of him, spurring him to complete his task as soon as possible.

Deep into the night, the carriage and Corvo reach their destination. The jungle opens up, exposing a scorched clearing in the otherwise dense bush. The ground was burnt long ago, the earth salted. Nothing grew here again.

In the center of the clearing stands a slate monolith, wide and flat, with cracked stone steps leading up to the apex. Corvo recognizes the dark rock, it is the same that builds the platforms of the Void. This is the slab upon which the Outsider was killed. 

He starts to approach the altar, then thinks better of it. The knife, the knife, the knife. Where is it now? He watches in the mirrors as they take the boy from the carriage. Before the fire killed everything in the clearing, the area was green and lush, with brightly colored flowers sprouting up around the delicately wound paths leading to the altar.

Following the Cultist escorting the orphan, Corvo ends up in the bathing room, a little stone building without windows, built for keeping in the heat of the bath. In the present, two of the walls are missing, but in the past, the boy is silent as they start to strip him for washing. Corvo looks away, trying to find the blade.

From the other side of time, Corvo cannot touch anything. He cannot open the heavy chest in one corner of the room. He cannot lift the cloth laid over the table by the side of the bath. Instead, he must wait for others to do this for him. Perhaps he could slip in unnoticed? Stealth is, after all, his profession. But when he thinks of crossing the divide of time again, the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. Why does it unnerve him so?

One of the Cultists bathing the boy pulls back the cloth, and Corvo can finally examine the trinkets on the table. Rings. The same ones the Outsider still wears. No blade. The Cultist plucks one of the silver baubles from the table, sliding it onto the boy’s thin fingers. 

The boy doesn’t struggle any longer.

Corvo cannot bear to watch the child prepared for slaughter. He must wait until after the sacrifice to take the knife in any case. So, leaving the bathing chamber, Corvo stalks towards the stone altar.

Once he ascends the stairs, he runs his hands over the flat of the table, worn down by rain and wind and time. The platform is as smooth as glass. He wonders if other children were killed here, failed deities. What happened to them?

Surrounding the altar is enough space for a small crowd of hooded worshipers. Corvo watches them through the mirror with disdain. They wait for their chosen lamb. And part of Corvo yet wishes to intercede, to murder them where they stand, for what they are about to do.

The Abbey thinks that the Outsider is responsible for the chaos of their world. For the darkness that drowns the good intentions of humans. But looking upon the Cultists faces, Corvo knows with certainty that disorder, hatred, terror, wicked intention, predates the Outsider’s creation. 

He knows nothing about these people. What they believe. Why they choose this boy with no name. What they hoped to accomplish in making him a god. But Corvo feels that they were wrong. 

In truth, Corvo adores the Outsider with an intensity that frightens him. One that he attempts to guard, even from himself. And yet, he would reject his claim to the Outsider’s sweet affections, if it would save him from this fate.

Because Corvo knows that the Outsider is afraid. Even now, after four-thousand years of knowledge and power. He is terrified. And that is why he has sent Corvo here.

But he did not ask Corvo to stop his ascension. 

The Cultists turn, facing some noise that Corvo cannot hear. He looks for someplace to hide. Once the deed is done, he must shift through time and steal the blade without delay. The knife has a curious habit of disappearing, especially when Corvo is involved. 

The boy ascends the stairs, walking on his own two feet and dressed in white, flanked on either side by hooded guards. They keep their distance, refusing to touch the now-cleansed vessel. 

Corvo stares at the child, his eyes downcast. And while Corvo sees a stranger, he knows that stoic fear so intimately. It has never left.

The Cultists usher the boy onto the table, coax him to lie down. He breathes heavily, his thin, shallow chest fluttering with each breath. While his lips are parted, Corvo doubts he makes a sound.

Only when they begin to tie the boy down does he start to thrash, as if thrown into a panicked trance. He knows he is about to die, and is unwilling to go quietly. 

The Cultists around him spring into action, proceeding through the ritual with more urgency than before. One of their hoods fall down. The man underneath looks plain, ordinary. Like anyone Corvo may meet on the streets of Dunwall. These are not fantastic creatures. Twisted monsters or haggard beasts. They are humans. Like him. Like the Outsider once was.

The flash of the twin-blade draws Corvo’s attention. Through the raucous scene, the razor edge glints, a beacon in the chaos. Corvo watches as the blade slices into the boy, slitting his throat. His mouth is open, screaming, blood running from his neck, staining the white of his attire.

Corvo does not wait. The first wound is enough to kill the child. He has waited long enough.

He has one chance.

Squeezing the Timepiece, Corvo crosses the membrane of the Void, entering the the past.

The Outsider was correct, the Void is thick here. Corvo can smell it lingering in the air. What the Cultists did changed the march of history.

Taking advantage of disarray around him, Corvo lunges towards the Cultist holding the knife. No one notices him, until he knocks the hooded figure over. He grabs the Cultist’s wrist, wrenching the blade from their hand. 

Corvo springs to his feet, running away from the scene he has just caused. But one of the Cultists, less easily startled than the others, tackles him from the side, taking him to the ground. The Cultist grabs Corvo’s hand, smashing it hard and fast against the ground to break his grip on the hilt of the knife. Corvo holds on tightly, refusing to release his prize. 

When Corvo’s grip doesn’t loosen, the Cultist tries to claw at Corvo’s eyes instead. He hasn’t worn his mask, unconcerned about being identified. He turns his head sharply, trying to deflect the attack. Then, in a narrow opening, smashes his head against the Cultist’s, trying to break himself free.

But another of the crowd has come to her senses, coming up behind the scuffle, a blunt mace in her hands. She raises it above her head, readying to bring it down on Corvo’s skull. Still pinned under the first assailant, Corvo tries to roll away, but the weight of the person he is grappling with restricts his movement.

“Corvo!”

The voice comes from the boy.

The boy meant to be dead, meant to be a god.

The world goes gray. And Corvo feels as if he’s drowning. Until he remembers to breathe, salt water sustaining him as sure as air.

“This isn’t what I remember,” now the voice is the Outsider’s as Corvo knows him. “I don’t…”

With the scuffle brought to a halt, Corvo can easily slide out from under the Cultist who had him pinned. When he stands, he realizes how dangerously close the woman above him is to crushing his skull like a plump, rotten grape.

The Outsider frowns, fixated over the dead body of the boy. Corvo looks at his hand, the twin-blade is gone. Fuck. He just had it! It was theirs!

“Now I remember, what I couldn't before.”

“I changed what happened?” Corvo must have made a mistake.

Shaking his head, the Outsider explains, “How many times must I remind you, time is not as linear as you think. You changed nothing, Corvo. I...I made myself forget what really happened.” He laughs, “I think I wanted to die more beautifully than I did. So I only remembered screaming once. Otherwise, I made a pretty corpse.” Staring down at the body on the altar, he continues, “but really, they mangled me with their clumsiness.”

Corvo doesn’t dare to look.

“What now?” Corvo is keenly aware of the gulf between them. The Outsider beside the altar, and himself lower on the platform. He has to go back. He has to get that knife.

The Outsider brushes his hand over the boy’s face, perhaps closing his eyelids. “Nothing. We’ve failed.”

“I failed,” Corvo admits, “but time repeats, right? It’s not linear,” he tries not to let panic settle in his voice, “I can try again. Perhaps I should wait until the one holding the knife is alone. I’ll try a different tactic.”

“Time is not linear, but this will always end the same. Except in the iterations of this day where you die on the Continent, so far from your home..”

Corvo realizes, with sudden clarity, “We’ve tried this before?”

“Dear Corvo, we’ve tried everything, _everything_ before. Only, sometimes, we do not remember.”

“And you always die…”

“We all die,” the Outsider jokes morbidly, “we’re only human, after all. Even those among us who are gods.”

\--

Emily kisses her father on the cheek, upon his arrival home. Wyman claps him on the shoulder, saying it's good to have him back. Neither ask what happened to the ship he departed on. Or if he succeeded in his mission.

He has a servant draw a hot bath and leafs through correspondence that arrived in his absence. Once the bath is ready, he bids the servant to leave him for the remainder of the evening.

His bones ache in the shackles of his skin. Even with the Outsider’s Mark, Corvo feels the heaviness of his age acutely. Time can only be so kind.

After his bath, he retires to bed. Corvo is not terribly surprised to find the Outsider waiting for him.

“You're making this a habit,” Corvo cautions.

“A bad one, I assume?” the Outsider sits at the edge of Corvo’s bed, his clothing wilting away, falling like soft, dark ash against the bedspread before vanishing completely.

Corvo admits, “I can't claim that I mind, but,” he takes a step towards the bed, letting the towel around his waist drop to the floor. “I don't like it when you pull that trick with your clothes.” He stalks towards the Outsider, shoving at his chest to push him back down against the mattress. 

“Why?” the Outsider asks, pressing his palms flat to Corvo’s chest, spreading his fingers wide before curling them, ever so slightly to press indentations into skin.

Corvo hums, “I like undressing you.” He grinds down against the Outsider’s cock, finding it already hard, taut against his abdomen.

“I could put them back on,” the Outsider teases.

“Don't you dare.”

The Outsider laughs. The sound is lighter, prettier than Corvo expects. When he smiles, the light from Corvo’s oil lamp turns his teeth bright.

Spreading his thighs, the Outsider wraps his legs around Corvo’s hips, arching into the weight above him. Despite Corvo’s failure on the Continent, the Outsider seems in high spirits. The lightness of his mood is….disconcerting at best.

But Corvo cannot bear to break the moment, curling one of his hands around the Outsider’s cheek. He uses the other to keep from crushing the narrower body underneath his. Putting his lips to the Outsider’s, they kiss, slowly, with practiced deliberation. The Outsider parts his lips and Corvo follows, drinking from the source of power he has long known will one day drown him. He wants this too much.

Corvo tries to be a good man. Reasonable. Responsible. But the Outsider breaks his resolve every time.

Grabbing at the inside of the Outsider’s thighs, Corvo wrenches them apart, uncurling the long limbs that held him locked. The Outsider huffs his frustration as Corvo disentangles himself, before gripping the Outsider’s hips and turning him so he lays lengthwise in the bed.

“Take pity on me,” Corvo jokes, “my knees can only take so much.” He crawls back into bed, this time able to rest his weight more firmly on the mattress. 

The Outsider smiles, pushing up onto his elbows to meet Corvo as he starts to descend. “Then allow me?” he offers, trailing one hand from Corvo’s clavicle to his navel.

Corvo rolls his eyes, “I'm sore, not decrepit.” He shoves at one of the Outsider’s shoulders, keeping him pinned down as he reaches towards the bedside table.

Humming in appreciation, the Outsider spreads his legs again, waiting for Corvo’s fingers. He rolls his hips in small circles, wickedly tempting. Were Corvo not already smitten, the simple motions would undo his sense of decency completely.

Corvo slicks his fingers, not bothering to let the oil warm. The Outsider has told him directly that he cannot tell the difference. The full length of Corvo’s body pressed against his is warm enough for the Outsider to detect. But subtle changes are lost on his bloodless body. Or maybe the Outsider is a liar, and he's simply impatient.

Because when Corvo slides the first finger in, the Outsider gasps, arching into the gentle pressure. It's not enough girth to really stretch, but the Outsider pants in appreciation all the same.

Corvo works him open, deliberately slowing down when the Outsider starts to buck his hips with more resolve. Laying his free hand flat on the Outsider’s stomach, Corvo forces him to wait. “You know I'll be good to you,” he promises, leaning over to kiss at the center of the Outsider’s chest.

“You've yet to let me down,” the Outsider whines, still trying to thrust against Corvo’s fingers.

Corvo isn't sure if the comment is meant seriously. His failure with the twin-blade may have doomed his lover. Yes, they all die eventually. But the Outsider is meant to outlast them all. At the very least, he should outlast Corvo.

Such a loss...Corvo couldn't weather it again.

“Corvo?” the Outsider’s voice is small. And Corvo’s chambers feel larger than they are. As if they might get swallowed up. He looks around the bed, trying to discern if they've left Dunwall and entered the Void. But they haven't. Only Corvo is changed.

“I'm sorry, my mind was somewhere else.”

The Outsider slurs, “what a compliment. It's nice to know, ah,” he gasps as Corvo transitions from two fingers to three. “That you are so enraptured by my presence.”

“I am,” Corvo promises, “you have no idea.”

“I have some idea, dear Corvo.”

Corvo withdraws his hand, reaching for the bottle of oil to slick his cock. The Outsider lies boneless against the sheets, the inside of his thighs and curve of his ass slightly glossy from the lubricant. Stroking himself to full hardness, Corvo gets into position between the Outsider’s legs, dragging him close as he works his way in.

“I waited for you, Corvo.”

Corvo slides into the hilt, breathing heavily as he waits for the Outsider to adjust to the thickness of his cock.

“Time isn't linear,” the Outsider rolls his head to one side, his eyes closed, “I didn't know when you would be born. When you would first accept my Mark, I didn't know if you would hate me, or love me, or be the one to kill me.”

Once the constricting tightness around Corvo’s cock abates, he starts to pull his hips back. Staring between their bodies, he watches as his shaft starts to slide out of the Outsider’s hole.

He's too enraptured to interject into the Outsider’s confession. Or, perhaps, it is terror that keeps him from interrupting.

“But I knew, Corvo, I knew that one day I would know you,” reaching up, the Outsider wraps his arms around Corvo’s shoulders. He drags him down, so they are face to face. 

Corvo keeps up the steady rhythm of his thrusts, burying himself deep in the Outsider’s body. The coldness of it is no deterrent.

“You would know me, and I would come to know you,” the Outsider’s breath hitches and Corvo repeats the motion, wanting to see his lover come undone. Wanting the Outsider to cry out his name, cling to his skin and steal his air. Corvo presses their foreheads together, letting the heat of his body soak the Outsider’s chilled bones. “And whether it would be through affection or displeasure, you, Corvo, you. You would care enough to wish to know my name.”

Corvo slows, his hand shaking now against the sheets. “This wasn't about the blade.”

“It was,” the Outsider promises, “because I waited all these years for you. And I do not wish to see us parted.”

Corvo kisses him with enough quiet ferocity to keep him silent. He wishes to hear no more. Even without the blade in his hand, Corvo will find a way. He picks up the roll of their bodies together, fucking into the Outsider as he writhes beneath him. When Corvo’s lips leave the Outsider’s mouth, descending down the column of his throat, the Outsider’s silence gives way to hurried moans.

More, please, Corvo, there. Strung together in a ceaseless litany. 

Corvo feels his own nerves growing tense, the tightness of the Outsider’s body blocking out all else. Reaching between them, Corvo starts to stroke at the Outsider’s cock, driving him towards the edge. He is perilously close himself, his head swimming with the intensity of the moment.

The Outsider tightens rapidly around Corvo’s cock as he comes. Still, Corvo continues stroking, pulling him through the last tendrils of his orgasm, before spilling himself inside the Outsider’s hole. He breathes, in and out, trying to slow the racing of his heart, before dropping his head against the Outsider’s shoulder. He feels his lover kiss into his hair.

Pulling out, Corvo rolls onto his back. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, wicking away the sweat that has gathered there. 

The Outsider rolls onto his side, watching as Corvo recovers. Corvo doesn't miss how the Outsider shudders, his own body still giddy from the pleasure high. Draping his arm over the Outsider’s waist, Corvo pulls him close, though he is aware his lover won't stay for long. Soon enough, they will be parted, the Outsider returning to the vastness of the Void.

“It doesn't matter,” Corvo mumbles, feeling a heavy blanket of exhaustion covering his conscious thoughts.

“What doesn't matter?” the Outsider asks, his fingers still dancing across Corvo’s chest. They're cool to the touch, but Corvo doesn't mind.

“That I couldn't bring you the blade,” Corvo tries to push away his sleepiness, but it won't budge. “I'll stop them. Whoever they are,” he promises him.

The Outsider’s voice is soft now, and strangely distant, as if he speaks from the bottom of a well. But Corvo can still feel his hands, though his eyes are closed. “Presumptuous, don't you think? To believe you can kill a god. Even more ridiculous, to claim you can stop a person who believes they can murder a deity.” 

“Don't make fun of me.”

“Never, Corvo. Never.”

A long pause hangs between them, before the Outsider speaks again.

“I was not built to last forever.”

And, despite his proximity to sleep, Corvo feels the wretched twist of love, choking in his chest. The Outsider is afraid. And that fear has twisted his own appraisal of himself.

“You were not built, my love. Even as you were made into something more, they could not take your humanity away.”

“I wish they did.”

“No you don't.” Because otherwise, they could not have this.

Corvo feels the wetness against his chest, and the gentle swipe of the Outsider’s hair, as it sweeps over his skin. He dare not open his eyes, only wrapping his arm more tightly across the Outsider’s back.

“I can't wait to watch you stop them,” the Outsider announces.

Corvo doesn't even know who “they” are. But it doesn't matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated.
> 
> [Artist's Tumblr](http://geeky-sova.tumblr.com) | [Author's Tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


End file.
